


Percy's Nightmare: Critical Role & Bloodborne Crossover

by m42sc



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m42sc/pseuds/m42sc
Summary: This AU is a crossover between Critical Role and Bloodborne, focusing on the Briarwood arc and Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III: powder keg heretic, sworn enemy of the vilebloods, and paleblood hunter.





	1. Grant Us Eyes

The moon seemed close, closer than usual, but Percy and Cassandra were too busy running for their lives to notice as it lit their way through the forest just outside of Whitestone Castle. The night had begun with a feast in honor of their parents’ friends, a married couple known as the Briarwoods, and the whole de Rolo family (seven siblings and their parents) had been in attendance. However, as soon as cups were raised for the toast, a numbing gray mist had filled the air around them and strange knights dressed in red and black robes had stormed the hall. Half of Percy’s family had been murdered before they could rise from the table, and those who attempted to flee didn’t make it much farther. The de Rolo guards had rushed to their assistance, but with sheer numbers and the element of surprise against them they were quickly cut down. Percy was one of the few people captured and thrown in a cell in the dungeons beneath his home while the screams from upstairs still echoed through the walls. The Briarwoods ordered for everyone else inside to be slaughtered, drained of blood, and their bodies burned. As smoke began to rise from the courtyard they granted their accomplice, Dr. Anna Ripley, permission to interrogate the prisoner. Percy wasn’t sure how much time passed as he was being tortured in the darkness, but after Ripley was finally gone he heard someone whispering his name at the door. Somehow his youngest sister, Cassandra, had hidden from the intruders and was able to unlock his cell. She pulled him to his feet and together they bolted from the castle through a side door, fleeing into the night through gently falling snow. It had snowed almost every day that week, and Percy and Cassandra had no time to cover their tracks. Soon a hunting party was in hot pursuit. 

Percy had barely noticed the cold as they fled the castle, but after almost an hour of sprinting through the snow it was steadily creeping through his hands and feet. He still ached all over from where Ripley had beat him, along with occasional stinging pains in his arms and neck from where she had cut him and taken his blood. Every breath he drew burned in his exhausted lungs. It seemed like his legs were going to give out on him at any moment, but he could already hear the distant sounds of horses and hunting horns and they couldn’t afford to rest or slow their pace. A few more minutes of silence, of running and sometimes crawling through the snow and dead undergrowth, and suddenly the call of the horn sounded again much closer than he was expecting. He turned to his sister Cassandra beside him and saw the same fear and desperation in her eyes- soon they would find them, and they would both be killed. It didn’t take long for the archers to spot them, and soon the first arrows began to land embedded in the trees and snow by their feet. Drawing upon his second wind, Percy took Cassandra’s hand once more and dragged her along faster. He could hear water running ahead, and if they could make it they might have a chance of losing their pursuers. He turned to see if his sister could hear it too, only to feel her grip fall slack as she tumbled forward- arrows protruding from her back and shoulders. He didn’t have any breath left for a scream, only a hoarse whisper of “No” as he fell to his knees beside her. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, and his hands were too shaky and numb to find a pulse as her blood colored the snow around them. He felt something hit him and he looked down to see another arrow had pierced his side. He had to go. Percy rose and as he turned to continue running he started to feel stabbing pain from the arrow that had hit him. He had to keep running. He had to keep going. His vision was blurred from tears and shock so he didn’t see the edge of the ravine as he stepped out into nothingness, and tumbled into the freezing river below. The darkness of the water took him, and Percy lost consciousness. 

Great volumes of water serve as a bulwark guarding sleep, and an augur of the eldritch Truth. The river flowed southward, carrying Percy’s body with it, and eventually emptied into a grand lake of mud, hidden from sight in a remote valley in the Alabaster Sierras. Percy wasn’t conscious when the fishermen pulled him from the murky waters, nor did he hear their inhuman voices whispering among themselves as they rowed him back to the fishing hamlet. His whole body burned with pain and fever when he finally came to consciousness in a dimly lit room. Opening his eyes he could barely make out a figure, a man seated in a wheelchair.   
“Oh yes… Paleblood…” the man was saying. “Well you’ve come to the right place. Yharnam is the home of blood ministration. You need only unravel its mystery. But where’s an outsider like yourself to begin?”   
Percy was unable to reply. The man moved the creaking wheelchair closer to loom over him.   
“Easy, with a bit of Yharnam blood of your own…” The man trailed off, then seemed to remember. “But first, you’ll need a contract.”   
The shadows around the room seemed to coalesce behind the figure in the wheelchair, and as he spoke these last words a roaring cloud of smoke emerged from them, whipping tendrils of darkness around the room and chilling the air. Percy tried to recoil but realized that his arms and legs had been bound to the stretcher with thick leather straps. Panic started to set in as the smoke grew to obscure everything in the room until a face emerged from the darkness. A long birdlike beak illuminated by a pair of glowing purple eyes. It spoke to Percy with a low growling voice that seemed to come from within his own pounding head.   
“Vengeance” it spoke. And as soon as it said this Percy remembered. His family, his sister, all murdered by people they thought were friends. His mother and father and six siblings, everyone he loved was dead. They were gone, and as the realization started to set in his panic was washed away by grief. It didn’t matter what happened to him now, if this thing killed him at least he might get to see them again.   
“They’re still out there, Percival.” The shadowy face drew closer. “Those who took everything from you. Even now they spit upon your family’s ashes and laugh at the memory of their deaths. Their victory will be complete if you die, but if you survive you can repay them for everything they have done to you… and so much more.”   
Percy didn’t know what to say. His head was still spinning from delirium and his body ached with chills, broken bones from the fall into the river, and pain from the arrow wound at his side. How could revenge even be possible? He had no weapons, no army, not even any possessions to his name. His body and spirit were broken. He just wanted it to be over.   
“I can help you, Percival.” The voice spoke again. “I can fix you and make you stronger than you ever imagined. The time for death will come, but for now you are still alive for a purpose. Silas and Delilah Briarwood and their allies still live, feasting while the ground beneath their feet is still wet with the blood of your kin. I can give you the power to take their lives, their souls, even their sanity, for the ones you have lost.”  
The mention of the Briarwoods by name stirred something in Percy’s heart and an icy calm settled over him. His family was gone, there was nothing he could do about that, but he could avenge them. Maybe they would all be able to find peace after it was done. He wanted nothing more than to make the Briarwoods suffer as he had suffered, to watch them feel a fraction of the pain he felt. They may have taken everything, but he still had his life. Maybe he really could take it all from them in return. He didn’t have anything left to lose. “Fine.” He said, and looked up into the eyes within the smoke. “Fix me, if that’s even possible. And I will do everything it takes to have my revenge.”  
“You will take their souls.” The voice from the smoke said to him. “And in return you shall have my power.”

“Yes.” 

The words lingered in the air between them for a moment, then the smoke dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. The man in the wheelchair smiled and held up a vial of dark, viscous liquid.   
“Good, all signed and sealed. Now let’s begin the transfusion.”   
Percy suddenly became aware of the intravenous line in his right arm. How long had it been there? The pain in his body returned as the calm he felt during his encounter with the smoke started to fade. What had he just agreed to? What were they going to do to him?  
“Oh don’t you worry.” The man in the wheelchair must have noticed the panicked look starting to return to Percy’s face. “Whatever happens… you may think it all a mere bad dream…”   
The last thing Percy heard before blacking out again was the man’s ragged laughter as he added the strange liquid to his IV.   
He’d later have trouble remembering the visions that followed. A monster made of blood and bone crawled up from the floor, claws outstretched. Tiny vacant eyes sunken behind a dripping maw of fangs. Growling and reaching, then burning and shrieking as blood covered the floor. Then a pale, ghastly figure. Lipless mouth full of human teeth open and crawling towards him. Then another. Then many more. Reaching, surrounding, suffocating. And then... nothing.   
Percy awoke to the gentle sound of rain on the roof of the empty house. He sat up and noticed that he was no longer bound to a stretcher. In fact, this bed seemed decently comfortable despite the moldy sheets. His broken bones and fever were gone, and when he checked his side the arrow wound had closed and healed. How long had he been asleep? It had been a dream after all, hadn’t it? This room had windows unlike the one in his dream, and pale moonlight illuminated the thick layer of dust on the floor. There were no footprints to indicate that anyone had been in or out of this place in years. He looked around. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, but maybe there was someone nearby who could tell him how he got here. Climbing out of bed he jumped sideways with a yelp as he nearly stepped on the Messengers. The tiny ghastly creatures he had seen in his visions had crawled up from between the floorboards and were offering him something. He recoiled and demanded to know who they were, shaking and staring in disbelief at the pale entities from his nightmare. The Messengers did not respond or pursue him, they just held up the purple scroll and waited expectantly. After a moment Percy decided to carefully accept it, and when he took the scroll they sunk back through the floor and disappeared out of sight. There was only one sentence written, and as soon as he finished reading it the scroll turned to smoke in his hands and drifted away.  
“Seek paleblood to transcend the hunt.”

He searched the house, walking from room to room and calling out to anyone who might be there to answer his questions, but he found no one. Everything about this building showed clear signs of disrepair and decay. Doors hung loose on rust-rotted hinges, rainwater dripped into muddy puddles through cracks in the ceiling, tattered curtains and ruined upholstery hosted colonies of insects, and the whole place reeked of mold and stagnation. He startled when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a dust-covered mirror, and even after cleaning it off he barely recognized himself. His brown hair had turned ashen white.   
It turned out that the entire fishing hamlet was abandoned. Percy found empty houses in varying stages of decay, a crumbling well with no bucket for water, and boats half-sunken in muddy banks by the docks. The rain had turned to a cold misty drizzle, and the clouds were sparse enough that he could still see with moonlight. He was wandering close to shore when he saw it- the beached corpse of a large creature on the sand. It was about a hundred feet long, with milky, translucent skin that glistened in the moonlight. A long, eel-like tail stretched out behind the skeletal protrusions on its torso. A pair of thin, human-like arms lay beside its long neck, which ended in a mound of tentacles shrouding… was that a human face? Percy froze in his tracks. Ordinarily he would have tried to approach the creature and examine it. He was well known in his family for his interest in studying the natural world, but this seemed alien in a way that unsettled him to the core. It both transfixed and horrified him, and as he gazed at it he had the strangest feeling. As if eyes inside his mind were opening for the first time. It was too much. As the first traces of dawn were beginning to glow over the horizon Percy turned and fled from the village, his feet carrying him farther south. As he ran he thought he could hear a distant murmuring on the wind, “Vilebloods. Blasphemous murderers. Blood-crazed fiends. Atonement for the wretches. By the wrath of Mother Kos. Mercy for the poor wizened child. Oh mercy… please.”

Percy didn’t remember much about the days that followed. He made his way through the forest, barely surviving off of what he could scavenge until he eventually reached civilization. The nights were different, though. The first dream came the night after he left the fishing hamlet. He was walking on a cobblestone path that led to a small building atop a hill covered in white flowers. The moon hung high overhead but the sky around him was bright, and a wispy fog hung low over the ground. As he looked around it seemed as if he was on a small island in an endless expanse of clouds. Gigantic pillars could be seen stretching up into nothingness in the distance. He turned and walked slowly along the path towards the building. Somehow this place seemed familiar. Headstones lined the path along the right, although he couldn’t make out any inscriptions on them. His attention was drawn instead to a figure seated next to the stairs leading up the hill. A life size porcelain doll with white hair and dark clothes stared vacantly ahead, her wood-jointed hands folded in her lap. Percy examined her carefully. His sisters had played with dolls as children, but he’d never seen anything as large and lifelike as this, and she seemed much more like a statue than a toy. He almost expected her to come alive and speak to him, given all the strange things that had happened recently, but she remained inanimate. Leaving the doll, Percy climbed the stairs and knocked on the half-open door of structure and called out to see if anyone was home. The door swung open further as he touched it, but there was no response from inside. The single-room building was vacant and it appeared to be some sort of workshop. Bookshelves stuffed with old books, chalkboards covered in scribbled diagrams, cabinets full of odd trinkets and materials, and candlelit tables littered with papers lined the room. Worn carpets covered the creaking wood floor and a fire crackled quietly in the fireplace. Percy walked through slowly, taking it all in. He was reminded of his own workshop back home at Castle Whitestone, and his endless hours spent tinkering on various inventions and engineering projects. It all seemed like a lifetime ago. He wondered what kind of projects the inhabitants of this place had been working on. Studying some of the papers he found scribbles about translating runes, disturbing sketches of horrid twisted beasts, and many, many designs for weapons of all kinds. Most of the designs seemed show two different phases the weapon could transform between, a fascinating mechanic that Percy had never considered before. But it was the firearms that intrigued him the most. These devices appeared to harness the power of black powder to propel a projectile forward towards an enemy. Percy had enjoyed dabbling in experiments making fireworks with black powder before, but this seemed like it had the potential to become a truly formidable weapon. There were no detailed blueprints, just sketches of various parts, but the concept behind it seemed solid and he could work out the details for himself with enough time. He organized the papers relating to the guns and set them aside, rising from the workbench. Maybe if the person who made these drawings was still nearby he could ask them about it all. He went to the door and pushed it open, only to be blinded by the morning sunlight. He had returned to the waking world, back in the Alabaster Sierras after having overslept through the sunrise. He heard a rustling noise and looked towards his feet. The Messengers had returned with another scroll.   
"Madmen toil surreptitiously in rituals to beckon the moon. Uncover their secrets."

Over the next few years Percy would continue to visit the Hunter’s Dream while he slept, studying the books and diagrams within and exploring the area around the workshop. He discovered an old man asleep in a wheelchair in the garden behind the workshop, but although Percy tried many times to rouse him he was unsuccessful. In the waking world Percy decided to begin his quest for revenge by tracking Dr. Ripley, who had tortured him in the dungeons of his own home before his escape with Cassandra. Along the way he began acquiring the materials to construct his first gun. They would meet again someday, and he would be ready for them.   
Far away, in Whitestone, the Briarwoods had much work to do. The plan to take the castle had worked excellently, and they had succeeded in enslaving the townsfolk and severing all contact with the outside world. It was time to move on to the next phase. Excavation of the ancient Pthumerian ruins below the castle was to begin at once, and they would have to refine tons of whitestone ore to complete the renovations. It would take years, but the Ritual was not to be rushed and they were committed to seeing it though. Their Queen needed an heir. A Child of Blood was to be born.


	2. The Night Unfurls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued story of Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, powder keg heretic, sworn enemy of the vilebloods, and paleblood hunter. Percy and his friends return to Whitestone to hunt an old enemy and get far more than they bargained for.  
> Content warning in this chapter for suicidal thoughts.

It had taken him five years, but Percy had finally returned to Whitestone. The city was almost unrecognizable. His former home lay wrecked and abandoned, and the few surviving townsfolk suffered and despaired. It was a depressing sight, and Percy was grateful for the presence of his friends, a group of adventurers who called themselves Vox Machina. They had found him by accident; imprisoned deep underground within some ancient ruins known as the Pthumerian Labyrinth. After constructing his first gun, The List, he had tracked Ripley there on his quest for revenge. However her guards had caught him and left him for dead, sealed within the underground chambers of the labyrinth. Vox Machina had saved him, and after much journeying together Vex, Vax, Grog, Keyleth, Pike, and Scanlan had become like a new family for him, but being back within the walls of the city was a painful reminder of the ones he had lost. He felt his gun at his side and thought of the names engraved on its chambers- the List of those who would soon face his vengeance.

They had arrived in the city the day before, and the situation was far worse than Percy had expected. Homes and businesses had been wrecked and looted, years of crop failure and isolation from trade routes had driven much of the populace to starvation, and those who could still work were frequently abducted and taken beneath the castle to work on a secret excavation project that was being overseen by the Briarwoods. No one knew much about it, but people had referred to it as “the Altar of Despair”. The Sun Tree in the town square, once a symbol of the sun god Pelor’s blessing upon the city, had withered and died. Now its branches groaned under the weight of dozens of hanged corpses of those unfortunate enough to draw the ire of their captors. On top of all this, there were the beasts. Rumors spoke that Lady Briarwood was a powerful necromancer, capable of reanimating the corpse of anyone who died within the city to do her bidding. So many people had perished that coffins now littered the streets, and some were even wrapped with heavy chains to prevent the occupants from leaving. Swollen corpses of hulking undead giants roamed freely, stones gripped in their rotting hands, and at night the dead rose to terrorize the living. Together Vox Machina had attacked the homes of several of the Briarwood’s allies and successfully incited the surviving townsfolk to rebel against their oppressors. Ordinary people took up arms with knives, pitchforks, and scythes, and rallied to cleanse the streets of beasts. As the battle raged outside Percy and his friends entered the castle through the same secret passageway that he and Cassandra had used to escape five years ago, intending to find and destroy the Briarwoods while their allies were focused elsewhere.

The secret passageway led them into the dungeons below the castle where Percy had once been imprisoned, and to their surprise they found Dr. Anna Ripley alive and held captive within one of the cells. Ripley explained that she was caught attempting to leave after her role with restoring the Altar of Despair had been completed, and offered valuable information in exchange for her freedom- Percy’s sister Cassandra was alive, and Ripley could lead them to her. Percy had cautiously agreed, intending to kill her later, but Ripley escaped after leading them into a trap. Professor Anders, Percy’s former tutor and one of the conspirators during the coup, was lying in wait for them. His was one of the names on The List, and as soon as he laid eyes on them he slit Cassandra’s throat and attacked Vox Machina. Keyleth’s magic was able to save Cassandra’s life while Percy viciously attacked Anders; firing two shots into his body before shoving the gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger. As he did a familiar black smoke poured from Percy’s eyes and surrounded his entire form. The Great One with whom he had made the deal after his escape five years ago. Its voice thrummed like a heartbeat in his head, whispers of “Vengeance” drowning out the sounds of battle around him. Time seemed to slow down around Percy as he watched the bullet exit through the back of Anders’ head, spraying blood along with bits of brain and bone across the wall behind him. As Anders’ ruined body slowly crumpled to the floor Percy saw something strange inside the man’s skull. Dozens of eyes that lined the inside were closing and dissolving as gouts of blood flowed from the wound. He looked down at his gun, black smoke beginning to dissipate from around its barrel, and saw Anders’ name on the chamber glow with a faint purple light and disappear.

His sister was alive. Percy and Cassandra held each other for the first time in five years in a tearful embrace. She was different now. The carefree adolescent who had been the baby of the family had grown into a woman burdened by years of hardship. She was happy to see him again, but Percy could see the pain in her eyes and regretted leaving her behind now more than ever. Despite his protests she insisted on joining them on their mission to kill the Briarwoods. Cassandra informed them that Silas and Delilah spent most of their time below the castle, working on the renovation of the Altar of Despair for some dark ritual. It had originally been built by an ancient race of people called the Pthumerians, and the Briarwoods had been seeking it for years before they arrived in Whitestone. Their work was almost complete and soon they would be ready to conduct the ritual, though they had kept its purpose a secret. There was no time to lose. Vox Machina followed as Cassandra led the way through the de Rolo family crypts and down into the tunnels below the castle.

It didn’t take them long to fall into another trap. They had been investigating a large room, trying to find their way through the locked door at the other end, when Cassandra had found a hidden button that had brought walls up from the floor and trapped everyone else inside. Thick walls of glass had risen up around them as acid began to pour from vents in the ceiling. The door behind Cassandra opened and the Briarwoods had stepped forward, wearing matching robes of red and black and gold. They gloated over their apparent victory before disappearing back into the darkness beyond, beckoning for Cassandra to follow them. Instead she stepped towards Percy and put her hand up on the glass, calling out to him. He tried to reassure her that they were going to be ok, that they were going to get out of here soon, but she stopped him. "Your sister left us the day those arrows found my chest. She did not die from those wounds, but to watch you leave me there in the snow. I have a new family. I am a Briarwood, and I have a destiny with the Vileblood Queen". Percy watched as she turned away and followed Silas and Delilah Briarwood into the next chamber. The burning acid was pooling around his ankles and when he looked down at it his eyes were drawn towards the gun in his hand. A purple light flashed again and a new name appeared on the chamber: Cassandra de Rolo. He had worried that she might be working against them, but for gods’ sake she was still his sister. He didn’t want to think about what this new name on the gun meant, and he didn’t have time to either. The acid levels were rising, and Percy turned to help his friends free themselves this mess.

It was close, but Vox Machina managed to break their way out of the glass and acid trap. The door beyond had been left open, and they proceeded further underground in pursuit of the Briarwoods and Cassandra. The tunnel opened up into a circular cavern lined with stone archways leading up to a vaulted ceiling. A large structure resembling a ziggurat stood in the center of the cavern, and they could see three figures ascending its stairs. Percy was once more wreathed in smoke as he led the charge and Vox Machina attacked. Silas drew a bladed club and cut himself with it, and it grew horrible needle-like spikes as the blood dripped from its surface. He leapt towards Percy and hit him with blows to the head and shoulders, and with each strike Percy could feel his strength being siphoned away by the dark enchanted weapon. Delilah hung back from the fray and held up an old bell. Each sinister toll brought a wave of undead to her side that threatened to swarm the party. The Briarwoods were formidable foes, and it was a bloody battle. Eventually, Keyleth and Pike were able to bring Silas to his knees with a powerful sunbeam spell and Percy saw his chance to strike. He stepped forward to look into Lord Briarwood’s eyes as burnt pieces of ashen flesh drifted off his form and mingled with the black smoke that covered Percy. The blood that poured from Silas’ wounds seemed to call to him and Percy was surprised to feel his strength resurging as he reached forward and plunged his hand into Silas’ chest, lifting him up onto his feet. He could feel the heart of his enemy spasming in his hand as Silas gasped for air, choking on blood. Percy held him close and said, “You're the face I saw when murder entered my heart. This is your doing.” The feeling of the blood was rapturous, almost intoxicating. This was the revenge he had waited for all these years. In one swift motion Percy clenched his fist to crush the vile heart of his enemy within, and threw Lord Briarwood to the ground. His body lay crumpled for a moment, then disintegrated into tiny particles of ash. Lady Delilah screamed and turned, pulling Cassandra into the inner sanctum of the temple and slamming the door shut. As his friends finished off the remaining undead corpses the blood rapture faded and Percy fell to his knees, covered in blood and nearly overwhelmed by nausea. His own actions sickened him. What had he just done?

It took them a few tries to break the door down, but when Vox Machina entered they could see Cassandra lying comatose on the floor in front of the Altar. The Altar of Despair looked like the corpse of a giant spider, but its body was covered with dozens of vacuous eyes and large white mold spores were growing up through its chitinous shell. Looking at it gave Percy the oddly familiar sensation of eyes opening within his mind. Delilah stood before it, chanting in an unknown language and holding something in her hands that looked like a pinkish lump of flesh. Vox Machina rushed forward to stop her, but it was Percy who managed to shoot her from a distance and knock her unconscious. The chunk of flesh in her hands fell to the floor, where it appeared to squirm for a moment before lying still. After Pike stabilized both of them, Delilah and Cassandra were put in manacles so they could be taken away for questioning. Scanlan poked at the lump of flesh on the floor and recoiled in disgust. It was still warm, as if it were alive and cursed. Grog attempted to crush it beneath his feet, but even though he managed to reduce it to an oily paste on the ground the sickly aura remained. Vex and Keyleth stepped forward to destroy the Altar though their attempts to damage it with magical and physical attacks seemed to have no effect, only releasing clouds of toxic mold spores which threatened to overwhelm the party. They grabbed Cassandra and Delilah and ran from the inner sanctum.

They paused in the chamber beyond the broken acid trap to heal Vex, who had sustained critical injuries during the fight, and Percy decided to wake up Cassandra. She was dazed and in shock, confused and immediately regretful of her actions against them. Percy shook her to her senses. He needed answers. What exactly was the Altar of Despair? What had Lady Briarwood been holding? What was the purpose of the ritual?  
“I don’t know much, the Briarwoods kept most of the details about the Altar itself from me.” Cassandra admitted. “What I do know is that they planned to use it to restore their Queen and their brethren. They belong to a powerful but long forgotten cult of vampires known as the Vilebloods. They served one that they called the undying Queen of Blood, but she was desecrated by executioners many years ago. Pieces of her flesh lived on and the Briarwoods are-” she paused, glancing towards the unconscious body of Lady Briarwood, “-were the only surviving Vilebloods to preserve it in hopes of restoring her. Our family, the de Rolo family, has lived in this castle that happens to be on top of the Pthumerian ruins for centuries. Apparently the proximity to the Altar of Despair has affected our blood and somehow made it special. Because of this, they were going to use me in the ritual for Queen’s reawakening so they kept me alive within the castle for all these years.” She shook her head and slumped back. “Looking back on it now... I can’t believe that I was going to let them do that to me. That I went along with any of their crazy plans.” Percy leaned forward, trying to make eye contact with her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. A look of deep regret shadowed her face and tears began to fall from her eyes. “It all seems like some terrible dream…” she murmured.  
“Given all that you know,” Grog chimed in, “can you think of any reasons why I shouldn’t just smash Lady Briarwood’s head in right now?” Cassandra turned to look back at Delilah and her face hardened. “Well. Someone needs to avenge my family.” For the first time she turned and looked Percy straight in the eyes.

Blood pulsed in his hand that held the gun, but it was a heartbeat that didn’t feel like his own. Smoke began to curl out of his sleeves and the voice in the back of his head called his name as he stepped away from Cassandra and towards Lady Briarwood. Percy put the gun to Delilah’s head and spoke aloud. “You changed the deal. Take the name off the gun.” His friends looked at each other in confusion as Percy seemed to hesitate and talk to himself. Delilah coughed and opened her eyes.  
“Our deal was never changed,” the growling voice of the Great One responded as smoke swirled around them, “You made a great sacrifice for my gifts, Percival. Do not let it be in vain.” Percy withdrew the gun. His head was spinning and this didn’t feel right. “Did I even want revenge before I spoke to you? I don’t remember anymore… What does she die for? What does all this even accomplish?” He lowered the gun to his side. “I want my country. I want my sister. I’ve killed two of those who have wronged me and nothing feels better.” He held the gun back up against her head. “What does this even mean to you?” The voice in his head commanded him to pull the trigger. Percy moved the gun towards his own head. “Maybe I will,” he pointed it back to Lady Delilah, “maybe I won’t.”  
When he’d first made this gun Percy had the sense that once vengeance was done and his purpose was over it would be time for him to die. He had even taken comfort in the idea, back then in the moments when he’d been closest to giving up, that death would be there waiting for him at the end of his journey. He remembered being trapped alone in the ruins of the labyrinth after his failed assassination attempt on Ripley. Days after they’d left him there he’d woken up in darkness during another night of horrible dreams and reached for the gun. Sitting up, he’d leaned forward and rested his forehead on the barrel. He wanted to go home. He could still hear his family calling from the nightmare that was beginning to fade from his mind. The only thing that had kept him from pulling the trigger right then and there had been the sense that it wasn’t time for it yet. He had to bring vengeance to the people on his List first, or his death would only mean victory for them.  
But things were different now. He had a sister. He had friends and a country he cared about.  
He wanted out of this nightmare.

“The deal we made wasn’t even real,” he argued. “It was nothing but a dream, a vision. I need more from you if you want anything from me. I don’t trust you anymore.” Percy dropped the gun. “I’m not satisfied. I want my money back.” A chilling laugh echoed through his head and Percy felt the pulsing heartbeat pushing his hand back towards the gun, but he managed to push back and resist it. He turned back to Lady Briarwood. “Delilah. You are going to die tonight. Whether it is a quick and merciful one, or a slow and agonizing one controlled by something darker than I know is entirely up to you. How do we destroy your Queen and the Altar?” The fear and grief in her eyes turned to seething hatred as the gag in her mouth was removed. “I know the pain you are feeling. I know the rage. I know every moment of this and I guarantee I can make it worse,” Percy threatened. His body was almost completely consumed by smoke. His friends stood transfixed behind him, ready to attack or restrain him at any moment. Vex called out and commanded Percy to fight back against the monster inside. Vax tensed and gripped his daggers. Delilah answered.  
“You’ve already taken everything from me.”  
“I really haven’t. You still have your sanity and your life. I will be taking your life but I can leave you with your sanity.”  
“Interesting. Why are you struggling with this, Percy?”  
He turned to Grog. “Knock her out again.”

His friends had a lot of questions. They were wary of the smoke that surrounded him, and they’d just watched him have a full fledged conversation with himself. He told them about making the deal in his dream after his escape from Whitestone, and about finding designs that inspired his gun in the Hunter’s Dream workshop. Percy wasn’t sure of what was going on anymore, things were complicated and he didn’t trust himself to take Delilah’s life. He really wasn’t sure what to do with her now. Killing her seemed like justice, but the demon that plagued him wanted her dead and he couldn’t stand to obey it any longer. All the while as they were talking the voice in his head was getting louder. It repeated his name over and over again until he could barely hear anyone else above it. His hands twitched on their own once more, reaching for the gun, and it took all of his willpower to pull them away. Percy’s friends saw his eyes go completely dark. His entire body tensed and he roared “NO!” as the smoke coalesced and gathered to form a tall humanoid shape standing behind him. It loomed over him, and for the first time they could hear it speak. “Percival. Do it.”

Vex fired an arrow, and everyone else immediately attacked. The eyes in the smoke flared up with burning purple light as the arrow struck. Percy ran to Cassandra, releasing her bonds and telling her to run, then turned to join the fight as Vax sank his daggers into the demon’s body. It struck out at them with long fingerlike claws, then paused and emitted a deafening roar. A shower of corrupted blood rained down from the ceiling, burning and stunning everyone nearby. Dark tendrils of smoke whipped around them as Vox Machina battled the monster that haunted Percy, and finally Grog dealt the killing blow to the back of its head with his flaming war hammer. 

It all happened so fast. The demon’s final scream echoed through the chamber, and suddenly Percy’s blood felt like it was on fire. Something was horribly wrong. Smoke began pouring from every inch of his body as he collapsed to the ground next to the disintegrating corpse of the Great One. His friends looked on in horror as both of them turned to smoke and disappeared.


	3. Begin the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is pulled into the Hunter's Dream and attempts to reawaken. He learns how to be a hunter and makes an ally along the way.

He woke up in the Hunter’s Dream, facedown in the grass next to the workshop. Percy slowly got to his knees. He was dreaming, right? What was he doing here? He felt dazed. A voice caused him to spin around and reach for his gun. “Hello, good hunter.” It was the doll. She had risen from her place next to the stairs and was standing beside him, hand outstretched. Slowly, Percy took her hand and she helped him to his feet. Her wooden fingers were strangely warm. She spoke again, “I am a doll, here in this dream to look after you.” Percy was still confused but he remembered his manners. “Thank you. My name is Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, of Whitestone. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.'' The doll nodded and curtsied. “Honourable hunter, pursue the echoes of blood and I will channel them into your strength. You will hunt beasts and I will be here for you, to embolden your sickly spirit.” His memory was foggy but this sounded familiar. He remembered reading something about a plague of beasts when he’d visited the workshop in dreams before. “Right. And how do I wake up?” The doll simply gestured to the headstones that lined the path in front of them. Percy examined the closest one. Some of the inscriptions were visible now, with the words “Central Whitestone” now legible. He reached out to touch it, and as he did the world faded around him once more. 

The place looked like Whitestone, but something here was very wrong. The buildings and streets looked the same, but the air was heavy with a strange smell that reminded him of incense and blood. Everything was familiar, but it felt off somehow. He walked the streets, passing abandoned stagecoaches and piles of burning rubble until he saw a group of people ahead. They carried torches, axes, and pitchforks, much like his allies the villagers in Whitestone had during the rebellion. Maybe they could help him. He stepped forward and called out, only to recoil in horror as they turned around. Hollow, milky eyes stared out from faces that were almost completely covered in long hair. Mouths full of rotting jagged teeth opened and a chorus of snarls came forth. They raised their weapons and charged towards him. Horrified and outnumbered, Percy turned and fled back the way he had come. He wove through the streets, ducking through alleys and around buildings until he sensed that he’d lost them. He avoided everyone he saw after that. He could hear muffled voices behind a few of the doors, but whenever he knocked the occupants mocked him and told him to go away. He almost laughed in disbelief when they called him an outsider. His family had lived in Whitestone and ruled over these people for centuries, yet they called him an outsider? This wasn’t his home. He had to get out of here. 

Maybe if he could find the castle there would be a way out. His feet took him around in circles through the town but somehow he couldn’t seem to locate it. As Percy rounded a corner he could hear footsteps behind him, and he turned just in time to see a man slashing a meat cleaver down across his chest. Percy cried out and shouted at him to stop, but there was no hint of comprehension or hesitation from the attacker. This villager had the same beastly features as the others, and as he brought his arm up to strike Percy again he drew his gun and fired point blank into the creature’s chest. The shot rang out and echoed through the empty buildings around them as blood began to pour from the wound and the man fell to his knees, stunned. The adrenaline and the sight of blood stirred something within Percy. Without thinking he stepped forward and performed the same visceral attack that had killed Lord Briarwood. His assailant’s body was thrown across the street with surprising force as Percy’s hand passed into his ribcage, lifted him up, and tossed him away like a ragdoll. The man gave a final gurgling moan, then lay still. More shouts and footsteps came from down the street. The sound of screams and the echoing gunshot had drawn the attention of others. Percy turned towards them, already covered in blood, and drew his rapier. Hunt the beasts. That’s what the doll had told him to do, and he didn’t have any other options for escape at the moment. There would be no more running. He would stand and fight. 

How long had he been here? How many had he killed? Percy wasn’t sure, but as he picked his way though the fallen bodies he saw something that caught his attention. It was a lantern on the ground. As he stepped towards it he was relieved to see the Messengers rising up around it and waving at him in greeting. They offered a new message to him:  
"To escape this dreadful Hunter's Dream, halt the source of the spreading scourge of beasts, lest the night carry on forever."  
Percy gave a side eye to the Messengers, who were looking at him expectantly. “Fine. I’ll hunt these beasts. But I’m going to need to know what’s causing the transformations before I can stop it. Do you have any insight on that?” There was no response. Percy sighed heavily. He was tired and wanted to go home. Hunting beasts didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to escape somehow. The lantern glowed with a soft white light, and when Percy reached out to examine it the world faded around him once more. Within moments he had returned to the Hunter’s Dream. 

The doll was waiting for him. “Welcome home, good hunter. What is it you desire?” Teleportation via lantern was not something Percy had expected, but it had been a weird day. “To sleep. I desire to sleep forever.”  
“To sleep? On the night of the hunt?”  
“That will not do.” An unfamiliar voice spoke up and Percy tensed. They both turned and saw the elderly man in the wheelchair who had previously sat sleeping in the garden.  
“Ahh, Gehrman is awake.” The doll smiled and led Percy towards him. He was dressed in worn out clothes that were tattered at the edges. Gray shoulder length hair framed his wrinkled face. The man called Gehrman leaned forward and examined Percy.  
“Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream. This will be your home, for now. I am... Gehrman, friend to you hunters. You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all of this. Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. You know, it's just what hunters do! You'll get used to it…”  
“I have been hunting beasts,” Percy responded curtly, “and I’d really like to know I need to do to stop the scourge so I can get it over with and go home.”  
Gehrman shook his head with a sly smile and pointed a finger towards the sky. “The hunt will go on as long as the night lasts. The moon is close. It will be a long hunt tonight. You shall see.”  
“How did I even get here anyway? The last thing I remember was fighting a monster made of smoke that I saw once in a dream.”  
“Blood oaths with the Great Ones are not so easily broken. Their power wanes when they enter your world but here…” Gehrman trailed off and his eyes strayed past Percy’s face towards the moon, “... their power is immeasurable.”  
“And where exactly is ‘here’?”  
Gehrman gestured to the workshop building behind him. “This was once a safe haven for hunters. A workshop where hunters used blood to enhance their weapons and flesh. We don't have as many tools as we once did, but... You're welcome to use whatever you find.” He leaned in close and whispered, “...Even the doll, should it please you…” He chuckled and wheeled away as Percy recoiled in disgust.  
The doll stepped forward and spoke to him again. “Good hunter, I sense the ancient echoes. They course through your veins.”  
Percy shook himself and turned to her. “Right, you mentioned something about channelling echoes before. What did you mean?”  
“Here, I will show you. Let me stand close. Now shut your eyes.” Percy warily obeyed as she took his hand. A warm sensation flowed through him. There was a flash and a ringing in his ears, and it was done. He felt invigorated, as if he’d just woken up from a restful sleep. He opened his eyes and checked the position of the moon. The night was still young. He had a long hunt ahead of him.  
“I suppose I better be on my way.”  
“Farewell, good hunter. May you find your worth in the waking world.”

The night wore on, and as Percy explored deeper within this nightmare version of Whitestone he discovered countless horrors. Beastly villagers, undead hounds with bones poking through their matted fur, hulking giants whose swollen flesh reeked of stale blood, massive carrion crows heavy from feasting on corpses, and even a few snarling werewolves fell before him. Their blood had a powerful, almost intoxicating effect, and with it the hunt grew easier. He began to wonder if the plague originated with tainted water, so he made his way down towards the sewers. On his way there he noticed someone as he was passing through on old warehouse. A figure stood watching him, dressed in a long cloak of black feathers. Their face was obscured with a mask shaped like a bird’s beak, and as Percy approached they made no hostile moves towards him. Perhaps this was a sane person who could give him some answers.  
An old woman’s voice spoke up from behind the mask.  
“Oh, a hunter, are you? And an outsider? What a mess you've been caught up in. And tonight, of all nights.”  
Her accent was unfamiliar to Percy. “Tonight- do you mean the night of the hunt?”  
She nodded. “Prepare yourself for the worst. There are no humans left. They're all flesh-hungry beasts, now."  
“And you?”  
She laughed. “I can take care of myself. A hunter must hunt. Though I must warn you... not to go near the tombs below the Raven Queen’s Chapel in the Cathedral Ward. Henryk, an old hunter, has gone mad. And he's my mark...”  
He tried to ask her more questions. He needed to know how to end the night, how to stop the spread of the beastly plague, but she refused to answer.  
“Still lingering about? What's wrong? A hunter, unnerved by a few beasts? No matter. Without fear in our hearts, we're little different from the beasts themselves.”  
She turned away and disappeared into the shadows.  
Percy was unnerved by her lack of forthcoming. He definitely felt like she knew something, but how could he earn her trust? He thought over their conversation again. Maybe if he could get to this Henryk person before she did he could prove his worth. His pace quickened as he turned away from the sewers and towards the chapel. He thought of the hunt, and the blood that came with it. Would a hunter’s blood be any different from a beast’s?

The graveyard below the chapel was dark and quiet, as locations associated with the Raven Queen usually were. But even here in this relatively familiar place Percy felt the same sense of unease that permeated the rest of this nightmare version of Whitestone. It looked different too. The central shrine of the Raven Queen was collapsing and overgrown, as were the headstones that surrounded it. A heavy mist hung in the air as he stepped carefully around them, doing his best to stay quiet and unseen. Looking around he could see the dim light of another lantern through the fog, and a figure beside it kneeling next to a grave. It appeared to be a man in a long, faded yellow coat. Percy drew his weapons and crept forward. He was so concentrated on watching the person in front of him that he didn’t notice the dead leaves on the ground until they had crunched loudly under his boots. Percy froze as the man turned and rose to his feet.  
“Are you the one they call Henryk?”  
There was no response. The man rushed towards him, drawing a weapon that Percy recognized from diagrams in the Hunter’s Workshop; a hinged sawblade with a wickedly serrated edge. Percy leapt back and fired. The bullet hit Henryk’s leg and he staggered for a moment before returning fire with a similar looking pistol. The two hunters traded blows, circling each other amongst the graves as their blood flowed from fresh wounds. Percy saw an opening and stepped in to attack, but Henryk caught him off guard with a shot to the gut. His armor took most of the blow, but Percy gasped and fell to his knees with the sudden impact and pieces of shrapnel that made their way through. Henryk moved in and reared back for a visceral attack, and up close Percy could see his pupils had collapsed into pools of darkness. Before Henryk could strike a rush of black feathers leapt from the shadows and stabbed him with two hooked blades. The woman with the bird mask had arrived. Percy rose and rejoined the fight as Henryk turned towards the woman, and there was a hint of recognition in his blood-drunk eyes. Her attacks were astonishingly fast for someone of her age, but he fought back with desperation now and became all the more dangerous for it. As Henryk turned away to face her Percy drew his rapier and stabbed into the hunter’s back with all his strength. Henryk screamed and dropped his weapons, falling to the ground as his body turned to smoke and scattered into the dust. As it did Percy felt a rush of strength as the echoes of blood coursed through his veins. 

The woman stood panting, her blades still drawn. After a moment she spoke.  
“That wasn’t necessary of you, but you have my thanks. We made it with our lives… you’re not bad at all.”  
She introduced herself as Eileen the Crow, hunter of hunters and Champion of the Raven Queen. The bloodshed of the hunt was known to drive people mad, and hunters of beasts inevitably transformed into beasts themselves. Thus a hunter of hunters was chosen by the Raven Queen to destroy the monsters that the hunters became. Percy looked to the spot where Henryk had fallen and a chill ran down his spine. He had to get out of here. If he stayed in the nightmare for too long he would be lost to the plague as well. He had felt the intoxication that blood provided, and soon Henryk’s fate could be his. He looked back at Eileen and explained his situation. That he had become trapped in the dream after attempting to break a pact for vengeance with a Great One, that he needed to end the night of the hunt so that he could go home. Eileen shook her head. She didn’t know how to stop the beastly scourge, nor was she familiar with the other version of Whitestone that he was talking about. But she did have some advice.  
“Ascend to the Chapel,” she gestured to the stairs across from where Percy had entered the graveyard, “and seek Communion with the Raven Queen.”


End file.
